THE  CAUSE 

Poems  of  the  "War 

♦♦♦ 

L/aurence  Binyon 


THE   CAUSE 

POEMS    OF    THE    WAR 


THE    CAUSE 

POEMS   OF  THE  WAR 

I 

BY 

LAURENCE  BINYON 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
^])z  laitjerilitie  ptti^  Cambritige 
1917 


COPYRIGHT,    1917,  BY  LAURENCE  BINYON 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED 

Fuhlished  March  iqif 


953 

CCLUL- 


NOTE 

Acknowledgments  are  due  to  the  Editors  of 
the  periodicals,  English  and  American,  in  which  most 
of  the  poems  in  this  volume  originally  appeared,  for 
leave  to  reprint  them:  also  to  Messrs.  Methuen  & 
Co.  for  permission  to  reprint  '  Europe,  1901 '  from 
T/te  Death  of  Adam ^  and  Other  Po ejus  (1903),  and 
to  Mr.  Heinemann  for  permission  to  reprint  *  Thunder 
on  the  Downs '  from  Auguries  (191 2). 


459633 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Arcinive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/causepoemsofwarOObinyrich 


CONTENTS 


PRELUDES: 

EUROPE,  MDCCCCI 

....       3 

THE  BELFRY  OF  BRUGES 

5      ....       8 

THUNDER  ON  THE  DOW 

NS    .       ,       .       .12 

I914-I916: 

THE  FOURTH  OF  AUGUS 

T        ....       23 

ODE  FOR  SEPTEMBER 

.          .          .          .       25 

THE  ANTAGONISTS 

31 

TO  WOMEN 

38 

FOR  THE  FALLEN 

40 

THE  BEREAVED 

42 

STRANGE  FRUIT 

45 

THE  HARVEST 

.       .       .       .     47 

THE  NEW  IDOL 

....     48 

THE  CAUSE 

.       .       .       .     49 

TO  THE  BELGIANS 

.       .       .       .     SI 

LOUVAIN     . 

S3 

ORPHANS  OF  PLANE 

ERS 

....     55 

viii  THE   CAUSE 

TO  GOETHE 57 

YPRES           . 59 

AT  RHEIMS 6 1 

TO  THE  ENEMY  COMPLAINING        ...  64 

MID-ATLANTIC 65 

THE  ANVIL 6y 

gallipoli 68 

the  healers 72 

edith  cavell 74 

the  deportation 78 

the  zeppelin    .   .   .  "  .   .   .82 
the  english  graves  .   .   .   .   .84 

going  west  .   .   .   .   .   .  ^     ^7 

fetching  the  wounded     ....     89 

the  ebb  of  war 94 

la  patrie       .       .       .       .      .       .       .97 

the  distant  guns loo 

men  of  verdun i02 

England's  poet 105 

the  sibyls      . i06 

before  the  dawn 1 14 

to  the  end    .       .       .       .       .       .       .  ii5 


PRELUDES 


EUROPE,  MDCCCCI 

TO    NAPOLEON 

Soars  still  thy  spirit,  Child  of  Fire? 
Dost  hear  the  camps  of  Europe  hum  ? 
On  eagle  wings  dost  hover  nigher 
At  the  far  rolling  of  the  drum  ? 
To  see  the  harvest  thou  hast  sown 
Smilest  thou  now,  Napoleon  ? 

Long  had  the  world  in  blinded  mirth 
Or  suffering  patience  dreamed  content, 
When  lo !  like  thunder  over  earth 
Thy  challenge  pealed,  the  skies  were  rent : 
Thy  terrible  youth  rose  up  alone 
Against  the  old  world  on  its  throne. 

With  shuddering  then  the  peoples  gazed. 
And  such  a  stupor  bound  them  dumb 
As  those  fierce  Colchian  ranks  amazed 
Who  saw  the  youthful  Jason  come. 
And  challenging  the  War  God*s  name 
Step  forth,  his  fiery  yoke  to  tame. 
3 


;  ^Z. .  THE  CAUSE 

He  took  those  dread  bulls  by  the  horn, 
Harnessed  their  fury  to  his  will, 
And  in  the  furrow  swiftly  torn 
The  dragon's  teeth  abroad  did  spill : 
Behold,  behind  his  trampling  heel 
The  furrow  flowered  into  steel ! 

A  spear,  a  plume,  a  warrior  sprung — 
Armed  gods  in  wrath  by  hundreds ;  he 
Faced  all,  and  full  amidst  them  flung 
His  magic  helmet :  instantly 
Their  swords  upon  themselves  they  drew, 
And  shouting  each  the  other  slew. 

But  no  Medean  spell  was  thine. 

Napoleon,  nor  anointed  charm  ; 

Thy  will  was  as  a  fate  divine 

To  wavering  men  who  watched  thine  arm 

Drive  on  through  Europe  old  thy  plough. 

The  harvest  ripens  even  now ! 

Time's  purple  flauntings,  king  and  crown, 
Old  custom's  tall  and  idle  weeds, 
Were  tossed  aside  and  trampled  down, 
While  thou  didst  scatter  fiery  seeds, 


EUROPE,  MDCCCCI  5 

That  in  the  gendering  lap  of  earth 
Prepared  a  new  world's  Titan  birth. 

Then  in  thy  path  from  underground, 
Where  long  benumbed  in  trance  they  froze, 
The  Nations,  giant  forms  unbound, 
Slow  to  their  aching  stature  rose ; 
And  through  their  wintry  veins  again 
Slow  flushed  the  streams  of  life  in  pain. 

Thy  thunder,  O  Napoleon,  passed ; 

But  these  whom  thou  hadst  stirred  to  life. 

On  them  the  imperious  doom  was  cast 

Of  inextinguishable  strife. 

For  peace  they  long,  but  blood  and  tears 

Still  blinded  the  tempestuous  years. 

A  hundred  years  have  flown,  and  still 
For  peace  they  pine ;  peace  tarries  yet. 
These  groaning  armies  Europe  fill, 
And  war's  red  planet  hath  not  set. 
O  mockery  of  peace,  that  gnaws 
Their  hearts  for  so  abhorred  a  cause  1 

Is  peace  so  easy  ?  Nay,  the  names 
That  are  most  dear  and  most  divine 


THE  CAUSE 

To  men,  are  like  the  heavenly  flames 
That  farthest  from  possession  shine. 
Peace,  love,  truth,  freedom,  unto  these 
The  way  is  through  the  storming  seas. 

Ye  wakened  Nations,  now  no  more 
You  battle  for  a  monarch's  whim ; 
The  cause  is  now  in  your  heart's  core, 
Your  soul  must  strive  through  every  limb ; 
They  who  with  all  their  soul  contend 
Bear  more,  but  to  a  nobler  end. 

Be  patient  in  your  strife !  And  thou, 
O  England,  dearer  than  the  rest ; 
England,  with  proud  looks  on  thy  brow, 
England,  with  trouble  at  thy  breast, 
Seek  on  in  patient  fortitude 
Strong  peace,  most  worthy  to  be  wooed. 

Take  up  thy  task,  O  nobly  born ! 
With  both  hands  grasp  thy  destiny. 
Easy  is  ignorance,  easy  scorn, 
And  fluent  pride,  unworthy  thee. 
Grand  rolls  the  planet  of  thy  fate : 
Be  thy  just  passions  also  great ! 


EUROPE,  MDCCCCI 

Turn  from  the  sweet  lure  of  content, 
Rise  up  among  the  courts  of  ease ; 
Be  all  thy  will  as  a  bow  bent, 
Thy  sure  oncoming  like  thy  seas. 
Purge  clear  within  thy  deep  desires 
To  be  our  burning  altar-fires ! 

Then  welcome  peril,  so  it  bring 
Thy  true  soul  leaping  into  light ; 
A  glory  for  our  mouths  to  sing 
And  for  our  deeds  to  match  in  might, 
Till  thou  at  last  our  hope  enthrone 
And  make  indeed  thy  peace  our  own. 

January  1901 


THE   BELFRY  OF   BRUGES 

Keen  comes  the  dizzy  air 
In  one  tumultuous  breath. 
The  tower  to  heaven  Hes  bare  ; 
Dumb  stir  the  streets  beneath. 

Immeasurable  sky 
Domes  upward  from  the  dim 
Round  land,  the  astonished  eye 
Supposes  the  world's  rim. 

And  through  the  sea  of  space 
Winds  drive  the  furious  cloud 
Silent  in  endless  race  ; 
And  the  tower  rocks  aloud. 

Mine  eye  now  wanders  wide, 
My  thought  now  quickens  keen. 
O  cities,  far  descried, 
What  ravage  have  you  seen 

Of  an  enkindled  world  ? 
Homes  blazing  and  hearths  bare ; 
8 


THE  BELFRY  OF  BRUGES 

Of  hosts  tyrannic  hurled 
On  pale  ranks  of  despair, 

Who  fed  with  warm  proud  blood 
The  cause  unquenchable, 
For  which  your  heroes  stood. 
For  which  our  Sidney  fell ; 

Sidney,  whose  starry  fame, 
Mirrored  in  noble  song, 
Shines,  all  our  sloth  to  shame, 
And  arms  us  against  wrong ; 

Bright  star,  that  seems  to  burn 
Over  yon  English  shore. 
Whither  my  feet  return. 
And  my  thoughts  run  before ; 

Run  with  this  rumour  brought 
By  the  wild  wind's  alarms. 
Dark  sounds  with  battle  fraught, 
Menace  of  distant  arms. 

O  menace  harsh,  but  vain  I 
For  what  can  peril  do 


lO  THE  CAUSE 

But  search  our  souls  again 
To  sift  and  iind  the  true  ? 


Prove  if  the  sap  of  old 
Shoots  yet  from  the  old  seed, 
If  faith  be  still  unsold, 
If  truth  be  truth  indeed  ? 

Welcome  the  blast  that  shakes 
The  wall  wherein  we  have  lain 
Slumbering,  our  heart  awakes 
And  rends  the  prison  chain. 

Turn  we  from  prosperous  toys 
And  the  dull  name  of  ease ; 
Rather  than  tarnished  joys 
Face  we  the  angry  seas ! 

Or  if  old  age  infirm 
Be  in  our  veins  congealed. 
Bow  we  to  Time,  our  term  ^ 
Fulfilled,  and  proudly  yield. 

Not  each  to  each  we  are  made. 
Not  each  to  each  we  fall. 


THE  BELFRY  OF  BRUGES       ii 

But  every  true  part  played 
Quickens  the  heart  of  all 

That  feeds  and  moves  and  fires 
The  many-peopled  lands, 
And  in  our  languor  tires 
But  in  our  strength  expands. 

For  forward-gazing  eyes 
Fate  shall  no  terror  keep. 
She  in  our  own  breast  lies : 
Now  let  her  wake  from  sleep  1 
1898 


THUNDER   ON   THE   DOWNS 

Wide  earth,  wide  heaven,  and  in  the  summer 

air 
Silence !  The  summit  of  the  Down  is  bare 
Between  the  dimbing  crests  of  wood;  but 

those 
Great  sea-winds,  wont,  when  the  wet  South- 

West  blows. 
To  rock  tall  beeches  and  strong  oaks  aloud 
And  strew  torn  leaves  upon  the  streaming  cloud 
To-day  are  idle,  slumbering  far  aloof. 
Under  the  solemn  height  and  gorgeous  roof 
Of  cloud-built  sky,  all  earth  is  indolent. 
Wandering  hum  of  bees  and  thymy  scent 
Of  the  short  turf  enrich  pure  loneliness ; 
Scarcely  an  airy  topmost-twining  tress 
Of  bryony  quivers  where  the  thorn  it 

wreathes ; 
Hot  fragrance  from  the  honeysuckle 

breathes ; 
And  sweet  the  rose  floats  on  the  arching  brier's 
Green  fountain,  sprayed  with  delicate  frail  fires. 

12 


THUNDER  ON  THE  DOWNS      13 

For   clumps   of   thicket,   dark    beneath  the 

blaze 
Of  the  high  westering  sun,  beset  the  ways 
Of  smooth  grass  narrowing  where  the  slope 

runs  steep 
Down  to  green  woods,  and  glowing  shadows 

keep 
A  freshness  round  the  mossy  roots,  and  cool 
The  light  that  sleeps  as  in  a  chequered  pool 
Of  golden  air.  O  woods,  I  love  you  well, 
I  love  the  flowers  you  hide,  your  ferny  smell ; 
But  here  is  sweeter  solitude,  for  here 
My  heart  breathes  heavenly  space ;  the  sky  is 

near 
To  thought,  with  heights  that  fathomlessly 

glow; 
And  the  eye  wanders  the  wide  land  below. 

And  this  is  England !  June's  undarkened  green 
Gleams  on  far  woods ;  and  in  the  vales  be- 
tween 
Grey  hamlets,  older  than  the  trees  that  shade 
Their  ripening  meadows,  are  in  quiet  laid. 
Themselves  a  part  of  the  warm,  fruitful  ground. 
The  little  hills  of  England  rise  around ; 


14  THE  CAUSE 

The  little  streams  that  wander  from  them 

shine 
And  with   their  names  remembered  names 

entwine 
Of  old  renown  and  honour,  fields  of  blood 
High  causes  fought  on,  stubborn  hardihood 
For  freedom  spent,  and  songs,  our  noblest 

pride. 
That  in  the  heart  of  England  never  died 
And,  burning  still,  make  splendour  of  our 

tongue. 
Glories  enacted,  spoken,  suffered,  sung  1 
You  lie  emblazoned  on  this  land  now  sleep- 
ing; 
And  southward,  over  leagues  of  forest  sweep- 
ing 
White  on  the  verge  glistens  the  famous  sea, 
That  English  wave,  on  which  so  haughtily- 
Towered  her  sails,  and  one  sail  homeward  bore 
Past  capes  of  silently  lamenting  shore 
Victory's  dearest  dead.  O  shores  of  home. 
Since  by  the  vanished  watch-fire  shields  of 

Rome 
Dinted  this  upland  turf,  what  hearts  have  ached 
To  see  you  far  away,  what  eyes  have  waked 


THUNDER  ON  THE  DOWNS      15 

Ere  dawn  to  watch  those  cHff  s  of  long  desire 
One  after  one  rise  in  their  voiceless  choir 
Out  of  the  twilight  over  the  rough  blue 
Like  music !  .  .  . 

But  now  heavy  gleams  imbrue 
The  inland  air.  Breathless  the  valleys  hold 
Their  colours  in  a  veil  of  sultry  gold 
With  mingled  shadows  that  have  ceased  to 

crawl ; 
For  far  in  heaven  is  thunder !  Over  all 
A  single  cloud  in  slow  magnificence 
Climbs  like  a  mountain,  gradual  and  immense, 
With  awful  head  unstirring,  and  moved  on 
Against  the  zenith,  towers  above  the  sun. 
And  still  it  thickens  luminous  fold  on  fold 
Of  fatal  colour,  ominously  scrolled 
And  fleeced  with  fire  ;  above  the  sun  it  towers 
Like  some  vast  thought  quickening  a  world  not 

ours 
Remote  in  the  waste  blue,  as  if  behind 
Its  rim  were  splendour  that  could  smite  us 

blind. 
So  doom-piled  and  intense  it  crests  heaven's 

height 
And  mounting  makes  a  menace  of  the  light. 


i6  THE  CAUSE 

A  menace  1  Yes,  for  when  light  comes,  we 

fear. 
Light  that  may  touch,  as  the  pure  angel-spear, 
Us  to  ourselves,  make  visible,  make  start 
The  apparition  of  the  very  heart 
And  mystery  of  our  thoughts,  awaked  from 

under 
The  mask  of  cheating  habit,  and  to  thunder 
Bare  in  a  moment  of  white  fire  what  we 
Have  feared  and  fled,  our  own  reality. 

And  if  a  lightning  now  were  loosed  in  flame 
Out  of  the  darkness  of  the  cloud  to  claim 
Thy  heart,  O  England,  how  wouldst  thou  be 

known 
In  that  hour  ?  How  to  the  quick  core  be  shown 
And  seen  ?  What  cry  should  from  thy  very  soul 
Answer  the  judgment  of  that  thunder-roll? 

I  hear  a  voice  arraign  thee.  "  Where  is  now 
The  exaltation  that  once  lit  thy  brow.? 
Thou  countest  all  thy  ocean-sundered  lands. 
Thou  heapest  up  the  labours  of  thy  hands, 
Thou  seest  all  thy  ships  upon  the  seas. 
But  in  thine  own  heart  mean  idolatries 


THUNDER  ON  THE  DOWNS      17 

Usurp  devotion,  choke  thee  and  annul 
Noble  excess  of  spirit,  and  make  dull 
Thine  eyes,  enfleshed  with  much  dominion. 
Art  thou  so  great  and  is  the  glory  gone  ? 
Do  these  bespeak  thy  freedom  who  deflower 
Time,  and  make  barren  every  senseless  hour, 
Who  from  themselves  hurry,  like  men  afraid 
Lest  what  they  are  be  to  themselves  betrayed  ? 
Or  those   who  in   their   huddled   thousands 

sweat 
To  buy  the  sleep  that  helps  them  to  forget  ?  — 
Life  lies  unused,  life  in  its  loveliness! 
While  the  cry  ravens  still,  *  Possess,  Possess  1 ' 
And  there  is  no  possession.    All  the  lust 
Of  gainful  man  is  quieted  in  dust ; 
His  faith,  his  fear,  his  joy,  his  doom  he  owns. 
No  more :  the  rest  is  parcelled  with  his  bones 
Save  what  the  imagination  of  his  heart 
Can  to  the  labour  of  his  hands  imf)art. 
Making  stones  serve  his  spirit's  desire,  and 

breathe. 
But  thou,  what  dost  thou  to  the  world  be- 
queath, 
Who  gatherest  riches  in  a  waste  of  mind 
Unto  what  end,  O  confidently  blind. 


i8  THE  CAUSE 

Forgetful  of  the  things  that  grow  not  old 
And  alone  live  and  are  not  bought  or  sold  !  " 

Speaks  that  voice  truth?  Is  it  for  this  that 

great 
And  tender  spirits  suffered  scorn  and  hate, 
Loved  to  the  utmost,  poured  themselves,  gave 

all 
Nor  counted  cost,  spirits  imperial  ? 
Where  are  they  now,  they  that  our  memory 

guard 
Among  the  nations  ?  Shall  I  say,  enstarred 
And  throned  aloof  ?  No,  not  from  heavens  of 

thought 
Watching  our  muddied  brief  procession,  not 
Judges  sublime  above  us,  without  share 
In  our  thronged  ways  of  struggle,  hope,  despair. 
But  in  our  blood,  our  dreams,  our  deeds  they 

stir. 
Strive  on  our  lips  for  language,  shame  and  spur 
The  sluggard  in  us,  out  of  darkness  come 
Like  summoned  champions  when  the  world  is 

dumb; 
Within  our  hearts  they  wait  with  all  they  gave : 
Woe  to  us,  woe,  if  we  become  their  grave  I 


THUNDER  ON  THE  DOWNS     19 

It  shall  not  be.  Darken  thy  pall,  and  trail, 
Thunder  of  heaven,  above  the  valleys  pale  1 
Another  England  in  my  vision  glows. 
And  she  is  armed  within ;  at  last  she  knows 
Herself,  and  what  to  her  own  soul  belongs. 
Mid  the  world's  irremediable  wrongs 
She  keeps  her  faith ;  and  nothing  of  her  name 
Or  of  her  handiwork  but  doth  proclaim 
Her  purpose.  Her  own  soul  hath  made  her  free, 
Not  circumstance  ;  she  knows  no  victory 
Save  of  the  mind  :  in  her  is  nothing  done, 
No  wrong,  no  shame,  no  glory  of  any  one. 
But  is  the  cause  of  all  and  each,  a  thing 
Felt  like  a  fire  to  kindle  and  to  sting 
The  proud  blood  of  a  nation.  On  her  brows 
Is  hope ;  her  body  doth  her  spirit  house 
Express  and  eloquent,  not  numb  and  frore ; 
And  her  voice  echoes  over  sea  and  shore. 
And  all  the  lands  and  isles  that  are  her  own 
In  choric  interchange  and  antiphon 
Answer,  as  fancy  hears  in  yonder  cloud 
From  vale  to  vale  repeated  low  and  loud 
The  still-suspended  thunder. 

Hearts  of  Youth, 
High-beating,  ardent,  quick  in  hope  and  ruth 


20  THE  CAUSE 

And  noble  anger,  O  wherever  now 
You  dedicate  your  uncorrupted  vow 
To  be  an  energy  of  Light,  a  sword 
Of  the  ever-living  Will,  amid  abhorred 
Din  of  the  reeking  street  and  populous  den 
Where  under  the  great  stars  blind  lusts  of 

men 
War  on  each  other,  or  escaped  to  hills 
Where  peace  the  solitary  evening  fills, 
Or  far  remote  on  other  soils  of  earth 
Keeping  the  dearness  of  your  fathers*  hearth 
On  vast  plains  of  the  West,  or  Austral  strands 
Of  the  warm  under-world,  or  storied  lands 
Of  the  orient  sun,  or  over  ocean  ways 
Stemming  the  wave  through  blue  or  stormy 

days. 
Wherever,  as  the  circling  light  slopes  round, 
On  human  lips  is  heard  an  English  sound, 
O  scattered,  silent,  hidden  and  unknown, 
Be  lifted  up,  for  you  are  not  alone  1 
High-beating  hearts,  to  your  deep  vows  be 

true! 
Live  out  your  dreams,  for  England  lives  in  you. 

Midsummer  191 1 


1914-19^6 


THE   FOURTH    OF  AUGUST 

Now  in  thy  splendour  go  before  us, 
Spirit  of  England,  ardent-eyed, 
Enkindle  this  dear  earth  that  bore  us, 
In  the  hour  of  peril  purified. 

The  cares  we  hugged  drop  out  of  vision ; 
Our  hearts  with  deeper  thoughts  dilate. 
We  step  from  days  of  sour  division 
Into  the  grandeur  of  our  fate. 

For  us  the  glorious  dead  have  striven, 
They  battled  that  we  might  be  free. 
We  to  their  living  cause  are  given ; 
We  arm  for  men  that  are  to  be. 

Among  the  nations  nobliest  chartered, 
England  recalls  her  heritage. 
In  her  is  that  which  is  not  bartered, 
Which  force  can  neither  quell  nor  cage. 

For  her  immortal  stars  are  burning. 
With  her  the  hope  that 's  never  done, 
23 


24  THE  CAUSE 

The  seed  that 's  in  the  Spring's  returning, 
The  very  flower  that  seeks  the  sun. 

She  fights  the  fraud  that  feeds  desire  on 
Lies,  in  a  lust  to  enslave  or  kill, 
The  barren  creed  of  blood  and  iron. 
Vampire  of  Europe's  wasted  will  .  .  . 

Endure,  O  Earth !  and  thou,  awaken, 
Purged  by  this  dreadful  winnowing-fan, 
O  wronged,  untameable,  unshaken 
Soul  of  divinely  suffering  man. 


ODE   FOR   SEPTEMBER 


On  that  long  day  when  England  held  her 

breath, 
Suddenly  gripped  at  heart 
And  called  to  choose  her  part 
Between  her  loyal  soul  and  luring  sophistries, 
We  watched   the  wide,  green-bosomed   land 

beneath 
Driven  and  tumultuous  skies ; 
We  watched  the  volley  of  white  shower  after 

shower 
Desolate  with  fierce  drops  the  fallen  flower ; 
'And  still  the  rain's  retreat 
Drew  glory  on  its  track. 
And  still,  when  all  was  darkness  and  defeat, 
Upon  dissolving  cloud  the  bow  of  peace  shone 

back. 
So  in  our  hearts  was  alternating  beat, 
With  very  dread  elate ; 
And  Earth  dyed  all  her  day  in  colours  of  our 

fate. 

25 


26  THE  CAUSE 

II 

But  oh,  how  faint  the  image  we  foretold 

In  fancies  of  our  fear 

Now  that  the  truth  is  here! 

And  we  awake  from  dream  yet  think  it  still  a 

dream. 
It  bursts  our  thoughts  with  more  than  thought 

can  hold ; 
And  more  than  human  seem 
These  agonies  of  conflict ;  Elements 
At  war !  yet  not  with  vast  indifference 
Casually  crushing;  nay, 
It  is  as  if  were  hurled 
Lightnings  that  murdered,  seeking  out  their 

prey; 
As  if  an  earthquake  shook  to  chaos  half  the 

world, 
Equal  in  purpose  as  in  power  to  slay ; 
And  thunder  stunned  our  ears 
Streaming  in  rain  of  blood  on  torrents  that  are 

tears. 

Ill 

Around  a  planet  rolls  the  drum's  alarm. 
Far  where  the  summer  smiles 


ODE  FOR  SEPTEMBER  27 

Upon  the  utmost  isles, 

Danger  is  treading  silent  as  a  fever-breath. 

Now  in  the  North  the  secret  waters  arm ; 

Under  the  wave  is  Death : 

They  fight  in  the  very  air,  the  virgin  air. 

Hovering  on  fierce  wings  to  the  onset :  there 

Nations  to  battle  stream  ; 

Earth  smokes  and  cities  burn ; 

Heaven   thickens  in  a  storm  of  shells  that 

scream ; 
The   long  lines  shattering  break,  turn  and 

again  return ; 
And  still  across  a  continent  they  teem. 
Moving  in  myriads ;  more 
Than  ranks  of  flesh  and  blood,  but  soul  with 

soul  at  war  1 

IV 

All  the  hells  are  awake :  the  old  serpents  hiss 

From  dungeons  of  the  mind ; 

Fury  of  hate  born  blind, 

Madness  and  lust,  despairs  and  treacheries 

unclean ; 
They  shudder  up  from  man's  most  dark  abyss. 
But  there  are  heavens  serene 


28  THE  CAUSE 

That  answer  strength  with  strength ;  they 

stand  secure ; 
They  arm  us  from  within,  and  we  endure. 
Now  are  the  brave  more  brave, 
Now  is  the  cause  more  dear, 
The  more  the  tempests  of  the  darkness  rave, 
As,  when  the  sun  goes  down,  the  shining  stars 

are  clear. 
Radiant  the  spirit  rushes  to  the  grave. 
Glorious  it  is  to  live 
In  such  an  hour,  but  life  is  lovelier  yet  to  give. 


Alas  I  what  comfort  for  the  uncomforted. 
Who  knew  no  cause,  nor  sought 
Glory  or  gain  ?  they  are  taught. 
Homeless  in  homes  that  burn,  what  human 

hearts  can  bear. 
The  children  stumble  over  their  dear  dead, 
Wandering  they  know  not  where. 
And  there  is  one  who  simply  fights,  obeys. 
Tramps,  till  he  loses  count  of  nights  and  days. 
Tired,  mired  in  dust  and  sweat. 
Far  from  his  own  hearth-stone ; 
A  common  man  of  common  earth,  and  yet 


ODE  FOR  SEPTEMBER  29 

The  battle-winner  he,  a  man  of  no  renown, 
Where  "food  for  cannon"  pays  a  nation's  debt. 
This  is  Earth's  hero,  whom 
The  pride  of  Empire  tosses  careless  to  his 
doom. 

VI 

Now  will  we  speak,  while  we  have  eyes  for  tears 

And  fibres  to  be  wrung 

And  in  our  mouths  a  tongue. 

We  will  bear  wrongs  untold  but  will  not  only 

bear ; 
Not  only  bear,  but  build  through  striving  years 
The  answer  of  our  prayer, 
That  whatsoever  has  the  noble  name 
Of  man,  shall  not  be  yoked  to  alien  shame ; 
That  life  shall  be  indeed 
Life,  not  permitted  breath 
Of  spirits  wrenched  and  forced  to  others*  need. 
Robbed  of  their  nature's  joy  and  free  alone  in 

death. 
The  world  shall  travail  in  that  cause,  shall  bleed, 
But  deep  in  hope  it  dwells 
Until  the  morning  break  which  the  long  night 

foretells. 


30  THE  CAUSE 

VII 

O  children  filled  with  your  own  airy  glee 

Or  with  a  grief  that  comes 

So  swift,  so  strange,  it  numbs. 

If  on  your  growing  youth  this  page  of  terror 
bite, 

Harden  not  then  your  senses,  feel  and  be 

The  promise  of  the  light. 

O  heirs  of  Man,  keep  in  your  hearts  not  less 

The  divine  torrents  of  his  tenderness ! 

'T  is  ever  war  :  but  rust 

Grows  on  the  sword ;  the  tale 

Of  earth  is  strewn  with  empires  heaped  in  dust 

Because  they  dreamed  that  force  should  pun- 
ish and  prevail. 

The  will  to  kindness  lives  beyond  their  lust ; 

Their  grandeurs  are  undone  : 

Deep,  deep  within  man's  soul  are  all  his  vic- 
tories won. 


THE  ANTAGONISTS 


Caverns  mouthed  with  blackness  more  than 

night, 
Fever-jungle  deep  in  strangHng  brier, 
Venom-breeding  sHme  that  loathest  light, 
Who  has  plumbed  your  secret  ?  who  the  blind 

desire 
Hissing  from  the  viper's  lifted  jaws. 
Maddening  the  beast  with  scent  of  prey 
Tracked  through  savage  glooms  on  robber  paws 
Till  the  slaughter  gluts  him  red  and  reeking  ? 

Nay, 
Man,  this  breathing  mystery,  this  intense 
Body  beautiful  with  thinking  eyes, 
Master  of  a  spirit  outsoaring  sense. 
Spirit  of  tears  and  laughter,  who  has  measured 

all  the  skies,  — 
Is  he  also  the  lair 
Of  a  lust,  of  a  sting 
That  hides  from  the  air 
Yet  is  lurking  to  spring 
31 


32  THE  CAUSE 

From  the  nescient  core 

Of  his  fibre,  alert 

At  the  trumpet  of  war 

And  hungry  to  hurt, 

When  he  hears  from  abysses  of  time 

Aboriginal  mutters,  replying 

To  something  he  knew  not  within  him. 

And  the  Demon  of  Earth  crying : 

"  I  am  the  will  of  the  Fire 
That  bursts  into  boundless  fury ; 
I  am  my  own  implacable  desire. 

**  I  am  the  will  of  the  Sea 
That  shoulders  the  ships  and  breaks  them ; 
There  is  none  other  but  me." 

Heavy  forests  bred  them. 

The  race  that  dreamed. 

In  the  bones  of  savage  earth 

Their  dreams  had  birth : 

Darkness  fed  them. 

And  the  full  brain  grossly  teemed 

With  thoughts  compressed,  with  rages 

Obstinate,  stark,  obscure  — 


THE  ANTAGONISTS  33 

Thirsts  no  time  assuages, 

But  centuries  immure. 

As  the  sap  of  trees,  behind 

Crumpled  bark  of  bossy  boles, 

Presses  up  its  juices  blind, 

Buried  within  their  souls 

The  dream  insatiate  still 

Nursed  its  fierceness  old 

And  violent  will, 

Haunted  with  twilight  where  the  Gods  drink 

full 
Ere  they  renew  their  revelry  of  slaying. 
And  warriors  leap  like  the  lion  on  the  bull, 
And  harsh   horns  in  the  northern  mist  are 

braying. 
Tenebrous  in  them  lay  the  dream 
Like  a  fire  that  under  ashes 
Smoulders  heavy-heaped  and  dim 
Yet  with  spurted  stealthy  flashes 
Sends  a  goblin  shadow  floating 
Crooked  on  the  rafters  —  then 
Sudden  from  its  den 
Springs  in  splendour.  So  should  burst 
Destiny  from  dream,  from  thirst 
Rapture  gloating 


34  THE  CAUSE 

On  a  vision  of  earth  afar 

Stretched  for  a  prize  and  a  prey  ; 

And  the  secular  might  of  the  Gods  re-risen 

Savage  and  glorious,  waiting  its  day, 

Should  shatter  its  ancient  prison 

And  leap  like  the  panther  to  slay, 

Magnificent !  Storm,  then,  and  thunder 

The  haughty  to  crush  with  the  tame. 

For  the  world  is  the  strong  man's  plunder 

Whose  coming  is  swifter  than  flame ; 

And  the  nations  unready,  decayed, 

Unworthy  of  fate  or  afraid. 

Shall  be  stricken  and  torn  asunder 

Or  yield  in  shame. 

The  Dream  is  fulfilled. 

Is  it  this  that  you  willed, 

O  patient  ones  ? 

For  this  that  you  gave 

Young  to  the  grave 

Your  valiant  sons  ? 

For  this  that  you  wore 

Brave  faces,  and  bore 

The  burden  heart-breaking  — 

Sublimely  deceived, 


THE  ANTAGONISTS  35 

You  that  bled  and  believed  — 
For  the  Dream  ?  or  the  Waking  ? 

II 

No  drum-beat,  pulsing  challenge  and  desire, 
Sounded,  no  jubilant  boast  nor  fierce  alarm 
Cried  throbbing  from  enfevered  throats  afire 
For  glory,  when  from  vineyard,  forge,  and 

farm, 
From  wharf  and  warehouse,  foundry,  shop, 

and  school. 
From  the  unreaped  cornfield  and  the  office- 
stool 
France  called  her  sons ;  but  loth,  but  grave. 
But  silent,  with  their  purpose  proud  and  hard 
Within  them,  as  of  men  that  go  to  guard 
More  than  life,  yet  to  dare 
More  than  death :  France,  it  was  their  France 

to  save ! 
Nor  now  the  fiery  legend  of  old  fames 
And  that  imperial  Eagle  whose  wide  wings 
Hovered  from  Vistula  to  Finist^re, 
Who  plucked  the  crown  from  Kings, 
Filled  her;  but  France  was  arming  in  her 
mind : 


36  THE  CAUSE 

The  world  unborn  and  helpless,  not  the  past 
Victorious  with  banners,  called  her  on  ; 
And  she  assembled  not  her  sons  alone 
From  city  and  hamlet,  coast  and  heath  and 

hill, 
But  deep  within  her  bosom,  deeper  still 
Than  any  fear  could  search,  than  any  hope 

could  blind. 
Beyond  all  clamours  of  her  recent  day. 
Hot  smouldering  of  the  faction  and  the  fray. 
She  summoned  her  own  soul.    In  the  hour  of 

night. 
In  the  hush  that  felt  the  armed  tread  of  her 

foes. 
Like  a  star,  silent  out  of  seas,  it  rose. 

Most  human  France !    In  those  clear  eyes  of 

light 
Was  vision  of  the  issue,  and  all  the  cost 
To  the  last  drop  of  generous  blood,  the  last 
Tears  of  the  orphan  and  the  widow ;  and  yet 
She  shrank  not  from  the  terror  of  the  debt. 
Seeing  what  else  were  with  the  cause  undone, 
The  very  skies  barred  with  an  iron  threat. 
The  very  mind  of  freedom  lost 


THE  ANTAGONISTS  37 

Beneath  that  shadow  bulked  across  tht  sun. 

Therefore  did  she  abstain 

From  all  that  had  renowned  her,  all  that  won 

The  world's  delight :  thought-stilled 

With  deep  reality  to  the  heart  she  burned, 

And  took  upon  her  all  the  load  of  pain 

Foreknown ;  and  her  sons  turned 

From  wife's  and  children's  kiss 

Simply,  and  steady-willed 

With  quiet  eyes,  with  courage  keen  and  clear, 

Faced  Eastward.  —  If  an  English  voice  she 

hear. 
That  has  no  speech  worthy  of  her,  let  this 
Be  of  that  day  remembered,  with  what  pride 
Our  ancient  island  thrilled  to  the  oceans  wide. 
And  our  hearts  leapt  to  know  that  England 

then, 
Equal  in  faith  of  free  and  loyal  men, 
Stept  to  her  side. 


TO  WOMEN 

Your  hearts  are  lifted  up,  your  hearts 
That  have  foreknown  the  utter  price. 
Your  hearts  burn  upward  Hke  a  flame 
Of  splendour  and  of  sacrifice. 

For  you,  you  too,  to  battle  go, 

Not  with  the  marching  drums  and  cheers 

But  in  the  watch  of  solitude 

And  through  the  boundless  night  of  fears. 

Swift,  swifter  than  those  hawks  of  war, 
Those  threatening  wings  that  pulse  the  air, 
Far  as  the  vanward  ranks  are  set. 
You  are  gone  before  them,  you  are  there ! 

And  not  a  shot  comes  blind  with  death 
And  not  a  stab  of  steel  is  pressed 
Home,  but  invisibly  it  tore 
And  entered  first  a  woman's  breast. 

Amid  the  thunder  of  the  guns. 
The  lightnings  of  the  lance  and  sword 
38 


TO  WOMEN  39 

Your  hope,  your  dread,  your  throbbing  pride, 
Your  infinite  passion  is  outpoured 

From  hearts  that  are  as  one  high  heart 
Withholding  naught  from  doom  and  bale, 
Burningly  offered  up,  —  to  bleed. 
To  bear,  to  break,  but  not  to  fail  I 


FOR  THE  FALLEN 

With  proud  thanksgiving,  a  mother  for  her 

children, 
England  mourns  for  her  dead  across  the  sea. 
Flesh  of  her  flesh  they  were,  spirit  of  her  spirit. 
Fallen  in  the  cause  of  the  free. 

Solemn  the  drums  thrill :  Death  august  and 

royal 
Sings  sorrow  up  into  immortal  spheres. 
There  is  music  in  the  midst  of  desolation 
And  a  glory  that  shines  upon  our  tears. 

They  went  with  songs  to  the  battle,  they  were 

young. 
Straight  of  limb,  true  of  eye,  steady  and  aglow. 
They  were  staunch  to  the  end  against  odds 

uncounted, 
They  fell  with  their  faces  to  the  foe. 

They  shall  grow  not  old,  as  we  that  are  left 
grow  old : 

Age  shall  not  weary  them,  nor  the  years  con- 
demn. 

40 


FOR  THE  FALLEN  41 

At  the  going  down  of  the  sun  and  in  the 

morning 
We  will  remember  them. 

They  mingle  not  with  their  laughing  comrades 
again; 

They  sit  no  more  at  familiar  tables  of  home ; 

They  have  no  lot  in  our  labour  of  the  day- 
time; 

They  sleep  beyond  England's  foam. 

But  where  our  desires  are  and  our  hopes  pro- 
found, 

Felt  as  a  well-spring  that  is  hidden  from  sight, 

To  the  innermost  heart  of  their  own  land  they 
are  known 

As  the  stars  are  known  to  the  Night ; 

As  the  stars  that  shall  be  bright  when  we  are 

dust. 
Moving  in  marches  upon  the  heavenly  plain, 
As  the  stars  that  are  starry  in  the  time  of  our 

darkness, 
To  the  end,  to  the  end,  they  remain. 


THE  BEREAVED 

We  grudged  not  those  that  were  dearer  than 
all  we  possessed, 

Lovers,  brothers,  sons. 
Our  hearts  were  full,  and  out  of  a  full  heart 

We  gave  our  beloved  ones. 

Because  we  loved,  we  gave.  In  the  hardest  hour 
When  at  last  —  so  much  unsaid 

In  the  eyes  —  they  went,  simply,  with  tender 
smile, 
Our  hearts  to  the  end  they  read. 

They  to  their  deeds!    To  things  that  their 
soul  hated 
And  yet  to  splendours  won 
From  smoking  hell  by  the  spirit  that  moved 
in  them ; 
But  we  to  endure  alone. 

Their  hearts  rested  on  ours ;  their  homing 
thoughts 
Met  ours  in  the  still  of  the  night. 
42 


THE  BEREAVED  43 

We  ached  with  the  ache  of  the  long  waiting, 
and  throbbed 
With  the  throbs  of  the  surging  fight. 

O  had  we  failed  them,  then  were  we  desolate 
now 
And  separated  indeed. 
What  should  have  comforted,  what  should  have 
helped  us  then 
In  the  time  of  our  bitter  need  I 

But  now,  though  sorrow  be  ever  fresh,  sor- 
row 
Is  tender  as  love  ;  it  knows 
That  of  love  it  was  born,  and  Love  with  the 
shining  eyes 
The  hard  way  chose. 

And  out  of  deeps  eternal,  night  and  day, 

A  strength  our  sorrow  frees. 
Flooding  us,  full  as  the  tide  up  the  rivers 
flows 

From  the  depth  of  the  silent  seas. 


44  THE  CAUSE 

A  strength  that  is  mightier  far  than  we,  yet 
a  strength 
Whereof  our  spirit  is  breath, 
Hope  of  the  world,  that  is  strange  to  hazard 
and  fear, 
And  the  wounds  of  Time,  and  Death. 


STRANGE   FRUIT 

This  year  the  grain  is  heavy-ripe ; 
The  apple  shows  a  ruddier  stripe ; 
Never  berries  so  profuse 
Blackened  with  so  sweet  a  juice 
On  brambly  hedges,  summer-dyed., 
The  yellow  leaves  begin  to  glide ; 
But  Earth  in  careless  lap-ful  treasures 
Pledge  of  over-brimming  measures, 
As  if  some  rich  unwonted  zest 
Stirred  prodigal  within  her  breast. 
And  now,  while  plenty  ^s  left  uncared, 
The  fruit  unplucked,  the  sickle  spared, 
Where  men  go  forth  to  waste  and  spill, 
Toiling  to  burn,  destroy,  and  kill, 
Lo,  also  side  by  side  with  these 
Beast-hungers,  ravening  miseries. 
The  heart  of  man  has  brought  to  birth 
Splendours  richer  than  his  earth. 
Now  in  the  thunder-hour  of  fate 
Each  one  is  kinder  to  his  mate ; 
45 


46  THE  CAUSE 

The  surly  smile ;  the  hard  forbear ; 
There  's  help  and  hope  for  all  to  share ; 
And  sudden  visions  of  good-will, 
Transcending  all  the  scope  of  ill, 
Like  a  glory  of  rare  weather 
Link  us  in  common  light  together, 
A  clearness  of  the  cleansing  sun. 
Where  none  's  alone  and  all  are  one ; 
And  touching  each  a  priceless  pain 
We  find  our  own  true  hearts  again. 
No  more  the  easy  masks  deceive : 
We  give,  we  dare,  and  we  believe. 


THE   HARVEST 

Red  reapers  under  these  sad  August  skies, 
Proud  War-Lords,  careless  of  ten  thousand 

dead, 
Who  leave  earth^s  kindly  crops  unharvested 
As  you  have  left  the  kindness  of  the  wise 
For  brutal  menace  and  for  clumsy  lies, 
The  spawn  of  insolence  by  bragging  fed, 
With  power  and  fraud  in  faith's  and  honour's 

stead. 
Accounting  these  but  good  stupidities ; 

You  reap  a  heavier  harvest  than  you  know. 

Disnaturing  a  nation,  you  have  thieved 

Her  name,   her   patient   genius,   while   you 

thought 
To  fool  the  world  and  master  it.  You  sought 
Reality.  It  comes  in  hate  and  woe. 
In  the  end  you  also  shall  not  be  deceived. 
47 


THE  NEW  IDOL 

Magnificent  the  Beast !  Look  in  the  eyes 
Of  the  fell  tiger  towering  on  his  prey, 
Beautiful  in  his  power  to  pounce  and  slay 
And  effortless  in  action.  He  denies 
All  but  himself.  He  gloats  on  his  weak  prize. 
Roaring  the  anger  of  wild  beast  at  bay, 
Blank  anger  like  an  element  whose  way 
Is  mere  annihilation  1  Terrible  eyes  1 

But  there  is  one  more  to  be  feared,  who  can 
Escape  the  prison  of  his  own  wrath ;  whose 

will 
Lives  beyond  life ;  who  smiles  with  quiet  lips  ; 
Most  terrible  because  most  tender,  Man,  — 
Not  only  uncowed  but  irresistible 
When  the  cause  fires  him  to  the  finger-tips. 
48 


THE  CAUSE 

Out  of  these  throes  that  search  and  sear 
What  is  it  so  deep  arises  in  us 
Above  the  shaken  thoughts  of  fear,  — 
Whatever  thread  the  Fates  may  spin  us,  - 
Above  the  horror  that  would  drown 
And  tempest  that  would  strike  us  down  ? 

It  is  to  stand  in  cleansing  light, 

The  cloud  of  dullard  habit  lifted, 

To  use  a  certainty  of  sight 

And  breathe  an  air  by  peril  sifted. 

The  things  that  once  we  deemed  of  price 

Consumed  in  smoke  of  sacrifice. 

It  is  to  feel  the  world  we  knew 
Changed  to  a  wonder  past  our  knowing ; 
The  grass,  the  trees,  the  skiey  blue, 
The  very  stones  are  inly  glowing 
With  something  infinite  behind 
These  shadows,  ardently  divined. 
49 


50  THE  CAUSE 

We  went  our  ways ;  each  bosom  bore 
Its  spark  of  separate  desire ; 
But  each  now  kindles  to  the  core 
With  faith  from  this  transfusing  fire, 
Whereto  our  inmost  longings  run 
To  be  made  infinitely  one 

With  that  which  nothing  can  destroy, 
Which  lives  when  all  is  crushed  and  taken. 
The  home  of  dearer  than  our  joy, 
By  all  save  by  the  soul  forsaken,  — 
The  soul  that  strips  her  clean  of  care 
Because  she  breathes  her  native  air, 

Yet  not  in  scorn  of  lovely  earth 
And  human  sweetness  born  of  living, 
For  these  are  grown  of  dearer  worth, 
A  gift  more  precious  in  the  giving. 
Since  through  this  raiment's  hues  and  lines 
The  glory  of  the  spirit  shines. 

Faces  of  radiant  youth,  that  go 

Like  rivers  singing  to  the  sea ! 

You  count  no  careful  cost ;  you  know  ; 

Of  that  far  secret  you  are  free ; 

And  life  in  you  its  splendour  spending 

Sings  the  stars*  song  that  has  no  ending. 


TO   THE  BELGIANS 

O  RACE  that  Caesar  knew, 
That  won  stern  Roman  praise, 
What  land  not  envies  you 
The  laurel  of  these  days  ? 

You  built  your  cities  rich 
Around  each  towered  hall,  — 
Without,  the  statued  niche. 
Within,  the  pictured  wall. 

Your  ship-thronged  wharves,  your  marts 
With  gorgeous  Venice  vied. 
Peace  and  her  famous  arts 
Were  yours :  though  tide  on  tide 

Of  Europe's  battle  scourged 
Black  field  and  reddened  soil. 
From  blood  and  smoke  emerged 
Peace  and  her  fruitful  toil. 

Yet  when  the  challenge  rang, 
"  The  War-Lord  comes  ;  give  room !  ^' 
51 


52  THE  CAUSE 

Fearless  to  arms  you  sprang 
Against  the  odds  of  doom. 

Like  your  own  Damien 
Who  sought  that  lepers'  isle 
To  die  a  simple  man 
For  men  with  tranquil  smile, 

So  strong  in  faith  you  dared 

Defy  the  giant,  scorn 

Ignobly  to  be  spared, 

Though  trampled,  spoiled,  and  torn, 

And  in  your  faith  arose    ^ 
And  smote,  and  smote  again. 
Till  those  astonished  foes 
Reeled  from  their  mounds  of  slain. 

The  faith  that  the  free  soul, 
Untaught  by  force  to  quail, 
Through  fire  and  dirge  and  dole 
Prevails  and  shall  prevail. 

Still  for  your  frontier  stands 
The  host  that  knew  no  dread, 
Your  little,  stubborn  land's 
Nameless,  immortal  dead. 


LOUVAIN 

To  Dom  Bruno  Destree,  0,S.B, 
I 

It  was  the  very  heart  of  Peace  that  thrilled 
In    the  deep    minster-beirs    wide-throbbing 

sound 
When  over  old  roofs  evening  seemed  to  build 
Security  this  world  has  never  found. 

Your  cloister  looked  from  Caesar's  rampart, 

high 
O'er  the  fair  city :  clustered  orchard-trees 
Married  their  murmur  with  the  dreaming  sky. 
It  was  the  house  of  lore  and  living  peace. 

And  there  we  talked  of  youth's  delightful  years 
In  Italy,  in  England.  Now,  O  Friend, 
I  know  not  if  I  speak  to  living  ears 
Or  if  upon  you  too  is  come  the  end. 

Peace  is  on  Louvain ;  dead  peace  of  spilt  blood 
Upon  the  mounded  ashes  where  she  stood. 
53 


54  THE  CAUSE 

II 

But  from  that  blood,  those  ashes  there  arose 
Not  hoped-for  terror  cowering  as  it  ran, 
But  divine  anger  flaming  upon  those 
Defamers  of  the  very  name  of  man, 

Abortions  of  their  bHnd  hyena-creed, 
Who  for  "  protection  '*  of  their  battle-host 
Against  the  unarmed  of  them  they  had  made 

to  bleed, 
Whose  hearts  they  had  tortured  to  the  utter- 
most 

Without  a  cause,  past  pardon,  fired  and  tore 
The  towers  of  fame  and  beauty,  while  they  shot 
And  butchered  the  defenceless  in  the  door. 
But  History  shall  hang  them  high,  to  rot 

Unburied,  in  the  face  of  times  unborn, 
Mankind's  abomination  and  last  scorn. 


ORPHANS   OF  FLANDERS 

Where  is  the  land  that  fathered,  nourished, 

poured 
The  sap  of  a  strong  race  into  your  veins. 
Land  of  wide  tilth,  of  farms  and  granaries 

stored. 
Of  old  towers  chiming  over  peaceful  plains  ? 

It  is  become  a  vision,  barred  away 
Like  light  in  cloud,  a  memory  and  belief. 
On  those  lost  plains  the  Glory  of  yesterday 
Builds  her  dark  towers  for  the  bells  of  Grief. 

It  is  become  a  splendour-circled  name 

For  all  the  world  ;  a  torch  against  the  skies 

Burns   on   that   blood-spot,   the  unpardoned 

shame 
Of  them  that  conquered :  but  your  homeless 

eyes 

See  rather  some  brown  pond  by  a  white  wall, 
Red  cattle  crowding  in  the  rutty  lane, 
55 


56  THE  CAUSE 

A  garden  where  the  hollyhocks  were  tall 
In  the  Augusts  that  shall  never  be  again. 

There  your  thoughts  cling  as  the  long-thrust- 
ing root 

Clings  in  the  ground ;  your  orphaned  hearts  are 
there. 

O  mates  of  sunburnt  earth,  your  love  is  mute 

But  strong  like  thirst  and  deeper  than  despair. 

You  have  endured  what  pity  can  but  grope 
To  feel :  into  that  darkness  enters  none. 
We  have  but  hands  to  help ;  yours  is  the  hope 
Whose  courage  rises  silent  with  the  sun. 


TO   GOETHE 


^B      Goethe,  who  saw  and  who  foretold 
^P  A  world  revealed 

New-springing  from  its  ashes  old 
On  Valmy  field, 

When  Prussia's  sullen  hosts  retired 

Before  the  advance 
Of  ragged,  starved,  but  freedom-fired 

Soldiers  of  France ; 

If  still  those  clear,  Olympian  eyes 

Through  smoke  and  rage 
Your  ancient  Europe  scrutinize, 

What  think  you.  Sage  ? 

Are  these  the  armies  of  the  Light 

That  seek  to  drown 
The  light  of  lands  where  freedom's  fight 

Has  won  renown  ? 

Will  they  blot  also  out  your  name 
Because  you  praise 
57 


58  THE  CAUSE 

All  works  of  men  that  shrine  the  flame 
Of  beauty's  ways, 

Wherever  men  have  proved  them  great, 

Nor,  drunk  with  pride, 
Saw  but  a  single  swollen  State 

And  naught  beside, 

Nor  dreamed  of  drilling  Europe's  mind 

With  threat  and  blow 
The  way  professors  have  designed 

Genius  should  go  ? 

Or  shall  a  people  rise  at  length 

And  see,  and  shake 
The  fetters  from  its  giant  strength, 

And  grandly  break 

This  pedantry  of  feud  and  force, 

To  man  untrue. 
Thundering  and  blundering  on  its  course 

To  death  and  rue? 


YPRES 

On  the  road  to  Ypres,  on  the  long  road, 

Marching  strong, 
We  '11  sing  a  song  of  Ypres,  of  her  glory 

And  her  wrong. 

Proud  rose  her  towers  in  the  old  time. 

Long  ago. 
Trees  stood  on  her  ramparts,  and  the  water 

Lay  below. 

Shattered  are  the  towers  into  potsherds  — 

Jumbled  stones. 
Underneath  the  ashes  that  were  rafters 

Whiten  bones. 

Blood  is  in  the  cellar  where  the  wine  was, 

On  the  floor. 
Rats  run  on  the  pavement  where  the  wives  met 

At  the  door. 

But  in  Ypres  there 's  an  army  that  is  biding. 
Seen  of  none. 

59 


6o  THE  CAUSE 

You  'd  never  hear  their  tramp  nor  see  their 
shadow 
In  the  sun. 

Thousands  of  the  dead  men  there  are  waiting 

Through  the  night, 
Waiting  for  a  bugle  in  the  cold  dawn 

Blown  for  fight. 

Listen  when  the  bugle  's  calling  Forward ! 

They  '11  be  found, 
Dead  men,  risen  in  battalions 

From  underground, 

Charging  with  us  home,  and  through  the  foe- 
men 

Driving  fear 
Swifter  than  the  madness  in  a  madman, 

As  they  hear 

Dead  men  ring  the  bells  of  Ypres 

For  a  sign, 
Hear  the  bells  and  fear  them  in  the  Hunland 

Over  Rhine  I 


AT   RHEIMS 

Their  hearts  were  burning  in  their  breasts 

Too  hot  for  curse  or  cries. 
They  stared  upon  the  towers  that  burned 

Before  their  smarting  eyes. 

There  where,  since  France  began  to  be, 

Anointed  kings  knelt  down, 
There  where  the  Maid,  the  unafraid, 

Received  her  vision's  crown, 

The  senseless  shell  with  nightmare  scream 

Burst,  and  fair  fragments  fell 
Torn  from  their  centuries  of  peace 

As  by  the  rage  of  hell. 

What  help  for  wrath,  what  use  for  wail  ? 

Before  a  dumb  despair 
All  ancient,  high,  heroic  France 

Seemed  burning,  bleeding  there. 


6i 


62  THE  CAUSE 

Within,  the  pillars  soar  to  gloom 
Lit  by  the  glimmering  Rose ; 

Spirits  of  beauty  shrined  in  stone 
Afar  from  mortal  woes, 

Hearing  not,  though  their  haunted  shade 

Is  stricken,  and  all  around 
With  splintering  flash  and  brutal  crash 

The  ghostly  aisles  resound. 

And  there,  upon  the  pavement  stretched, 
The  German  wounded  groan 

To  see  the  dropping  flames  of  death 
And  feel  the  shells  their  own. 

Too  fierce  the  fire !  Helped  by  their  foes 

They  stagger  out  to  air. 
The  green-.grey  coats  are  seen,  are  known 

Through  all  the  crowded  square. 


Ah.  now  for  vengeance  !  Deep  the  groan : 

A  death-knell !  Quietly 
Soldiers  unsling  their  rifles,  lift 

And  aim  with  steady  eye. 


AT  RHEIMS  63 

But  sudden  in  the  hush  between 
Death  and  the  doomed,  there  stands 

Against  those  levelled  guns  a  priest, 
Gentle,  with  outstretched  hands. 

Be  not  as  guilty  as  they  I  he  cries  .  .  . 

Each  lets  his  weapon  fall, 
As  if  a  vision  showed  him  France 

And  vengeance  vain  and  small. 


TO  THE  ENEMY   COMPLAINING 

Be  ruthless,  then;  scorn  slaves  of  scruple; 

avow 
The  blow,  planned  with  such  patience,  that 

you  deal 
So  terribly ;  hack  on,  and  care  not  how 
The  innocent  fall ;  live  out  your  faith  of  steel. 

Then  you  speak  speech  that  we  can  compre* 

hend. 
It  cries  from  the  unpitied  blood  you  spill. 
And  so  we  stand  against  you,  and  to  the  end 
Flame  as  one  man,  the  weapon  of  one  will. 

But  when  your  lips  usurp  the  loyal  phrase 
Of  honour,  querulously  voluble 
Of  "  chivalry ''  and  "  kindness,*'  and  you  praise 
What  you  despise  for  weakness  of  the  fool, 

Then  the  gorge  rises.  Bleat  to  dupe  the  dead ! 

The  wolf  beneath  the  sheepskin  drips  too  red. 

64 


MID-ATLANTIC 

If  this  were  all !  —  A  dream  of  dread 

Ran  through  me;  I  watched  the  waves  that 

fled 
Pale-crested  out  of  hollows  black, 
The  hungry  lift  of  helpless  waves, 
A  million  million  tossing  graves, 
A  wilderness  without  a  track 
Beneath  the  barren  moon : 
If  this  were  all ! 

The  stars  of  night  remotely  strewn 
Looked  on  that  restless  heave  and  fall. 
I  seemed  with  them  to  watch  this  old 
Bright  planet  through  the  ages  rolled, 
Self -tortured,  burning  splendours  vain 
And  fevered  with  its  greeds  insane 
And  with  the  blood  of  peoples  red ; 
I  watched  it,  grown  an  ember  cold. 
Join  in  the  dancing  of  the  dead. 

The  chilly  half-moon  sank ;  the  sound 
Of  naked  surges  roared  around, 
65 


66  THE  CAUSE 

And  through  my  heart  the  darkness  poured 
Surges  as  of  a  sea  unshored. 

0  somewhere  far  and  lost  from  light 
Blind  Europe  battled  in  the  night ! 
Then  sudden  through  the  darkness  came 
The  vision  of  a  child, 

A  child  with  feet  as  light  as  flame 
Who  ran  across  the  bitter  waves, 
Across  the  tumbling  of  the  graves  — 
With  arms  stretched  out  he  smiled. 

1  drank  the  wine  of  life  again, 

I  breathed  among  my  brother  men, 
I  felt  the  human  fire. 
I  knew  that  I  must  serve  the  will 
Of  beauty  and  love  and  wisdom  still ; 
Though  all  my  hopes  were  overthrown, 
Though  universes  turned  to  stone, 
I  have  my  being  in  this  alone 
And  die  in  that  desire. 

On  board  the  Lusitania 
December  19 14 


THE  ANVIL 

Burned  from  the  ore's  rejected  dross, 

The  iron  whitens  in  the  heat. 

With  plangent  strokes  of  pain  and  loss 

The  hammers  on  the  iron  beat. 

Searched  by  the  fire,  through  death  and  dole 

We  feel  the  iron  in  our  soul. 

O  dreadful  Forge !  if  torn  and  bruised 
The  heart,  more  urgent  comes  our  cry 
Not  to  be  spared  but  to  be  used. 
Brain,  sinew,  and  spirit,  before  we  die. 
Beat  out  the  iron,  edge  it  keen, 
And  shape  us  to  the  end  we  mean ! 
67 


GALLIPOLI 

Isles  of  the  ^gean,  Troy,  and  waters  of  Hel- 
lespont, 
You  we  have  known  from  of  old 
Since  boyhood  stammering  glorious  Greek  was 
entranced 
In  the  tale  that  Homer  told. 
There  scornful  Achilles  towered  and  flamed 
through  the  battle 
Defying  the  gods ;  and  there 
Hector  armed,  and  Andromache  proudly  held 
up  his  boy  to  him, 
Knowing  not  yet  despair. 

We  beheld  them  as  presences  moving  beauti- 
ful and  swift 
In  the  radiant  morning  of  Time, 
Far  from  reality,  far  from  dulness  of  daily 
doing 
And  from  cities  of  fog  and  grime,  — 
Unattainable  day-dream,  heroes,  gods  and  god- 
desses 
Matched  in  splendour  of  war, 
68 


GALLIPOLI  69 

Days  of  a  vanished  world,  days  of  a  grandeur 
perished, 
Days  that  should  bloom  no  more. 

But  now  shall  our  boyhood  learn  to  tell  a  new 
tale. 
And  a  new  song  shall  be  sung, 
And  the  sound  of  it  shall  praise  not  magnifi- 
cence of  old  time 
But  the  glory  and  the  greatness  of  the  young; 
Deeds  of  this  our  own  day,  marvellous  deeds 
of  our  own  blood ; 
Sons  that  their  sires  excel. 
Lightly  going  into  peril  and  taking  death  by 
the  hand :  — 
Of  these  they  shall  sing,  they  shall  tell. 

How  in  ships  sailing  the  famed  Mediterranean 

From  armed  banks  of  Nile 
Men  from  far  homes  in  sunny  Austral  Domin- 
ions 
And  the  misty  mother-isle, 
Met  in  the  great  cause,  joined  in  the  vast  ad- 
venture, 
Saw  first  in  April  skies. 


70  THE  CAUSE 

Beyond  storied  islands,  Gallipoli's  promontory, 
Impregnably  ridged,  arise. 

And  how  from  the  belly  of  the  black  ship 
driven  beneath 
Towering  scarp  and  scaur 
Hailing  hidden  rages  of  fire  in  terrible  gusts 

On  the  murdered  space  of  shore, 
Into  the  water  they  leapt,  they  rushed,  and 
across  the  beach 
With  impetuous  shout,  all 
Inspired  beyond  men,  climbed  and  were  over 
the  crest 
As  a  flame  leaps  over  a  wall. 

Not  all  the  gods  in  heaven's  miraculous  pan- 
oply 
Could  have  hindered  or  stayed  them,  so 
Irresistibly  came  they,  scaled  the  unscaleable 
and  sprang 
To  stab  the  astonished  foe : 
Marvellous  doers  of  deeds,  lifted  past  our  im- 
agining 
To  a  world  where  death  is  nought, 


GALLIPOLI  71 

As  a  spirit  against  spirit,  as  a  libergited  ele- 
ment, 
As  fire  in  flesh  they  fought. 

Now  to  the  old  twilight  and  pale  legendary 
glories 
By  our  own  youth  outdone, 
Those  shores  recede ;  not  there,  but  in  mem- 
ory everlasting 
The  immortal  heights  were  won. 
Of  them  that  triumphed,  of  them  that  fell, 
there  is  only  now 
Silence  and  sleep  and  fame. 
And  in  night's  immensity,  far  on  that  prom- 
ontory's altar 
The  invisibly  burning  flame. 


THE  HEALERS 

In  a  vision  of  the  night  I  saw  them, 

In  the  battles  of  the  night. 
'Mid  the  roar  and  the  reeling  shadows  of  blood 

They  were  moving  like  light, 

Light  of  the  reason,  guarded 

Tense  within  the  will. 
As  a  lantern  under  a  tossing  of  boughs 

Burns  steady  and  still. 

With  scrutiny  calm,  and  with  fingers 

Patient  as  swift 
They  bind  up  the  hurts  and  the  pain-writhen 

Bodies  uplift, 

Untired  and  defenceless ;  around  them 

With  shrieks  in  its  breath 
Bursts  stark  from  the  terrible  horizon 

Impersonal  death ; 

But  they  take  not  their  courage  from  anger 
That  blinds  the  hot  being ; 
72 


THE  HEALERS  73 

They  take  not  their  pity  from  weakness ; 
Tender,  yet  seeing; 

Feeling,  yet  nerved  to  the  uttermost ; 

Keen,  like  steel ; 
Yet  the  wounds  of  the  mind  they  are  stricken 
with. 

Who  shall  heal? 

They  endure  to  have  eyes  of  the  watcher 

In  hell,  and  not  swerve 
For  an  hour  from  the  faith  that  they  follow, 

The  light  that  they  serve. 

Man  true  to  man,  to  his  kindness 

That  overflows  all. 
To  his  spirit  erect  in  the  thunder 

When  all  his  forts  fall,  — 

This  light,  in  the  tiger-mad  welter 

They  serve  and  they  save. 
What   song    shall   be   worthy  to   sing  of 
them  — 

Braver  than  the  brave  ? 


EDITH   CAVELL 

She  was  binding  the  wounds  of  her  enemies 
when  they  came  — 
The  Hnt  in  her  hand  unrolled. 
They  battered  the  door  with  their  rifle-butts, 
crashed  it  in : 
She  faced  them  gentle  and  bold. 

They  haled  her  before  the  judges  where  they 
sat 
In  their  places,  helmet  on  head. 
With  question  and  menace  the  judges  assailed 
her,  "  Yes, 
I  have  broken  your  law,"  she  said. 

"  I  have  tended  the  hurt  and  hidden  the  hunted, 
have  done 
As  a  sister  does  to  a  brother, 
Because  of  a  law  that  is  greater  than  that  you 
have  made, 
Because  I  could  do  none  other. 
74 


EDITH  CAVELL  75 

"  Deal  as  you  will  with  me.  This  is  my  choice 
to  the  end, 
To  live  in  the  life  I  vowed/' 
"  She  is  self-confessed/'  they  cried,  **  she  is 
self-condemned. 
She  shall  die,  that  the  rest  may  be  cowed/' 

In  the  terrible  hour  of  the  dawn,  when  the 
veins  are  cold. 
They  led  her  forth  to  the  wall. 
"  I  have  loved  my  land,"  she  said,  "but  it  is 
not  enough  : 
Love  requires  of  me  all. 

"  I  will  empty  my  heart  of  the  bitterness,  hating 
none." 

And  sweetness  filled  her  brave 
With  a  vision  of  understanding  beyond  the  hour 

That  knelled  to  the  waiting  grave. 

They  bound  her  eyes,  but  she  stood  as  if  she 
shone. 
The  rifles  it  was  that  shook 
When  the  hoarse  command  rang  out.  They 
could  not  endure 
That  last,  that  defenceless  look. 


76  THE  CAUSE 

y  And  the  officer  strode  and  pistolled  her  surely, 
ashamed 
That  men,  seasoned  in  blood, 
Should  quail  at  a  woman,  only  a  woman,  — 
dead 
As  a  flower  stamped  in  the  mud. 

And  now  that  the  deed  was  securely  done,  in 
the  night 
When  none  had  known  her  fate, 
They  answered  those  that  had  striven  for  her, 
day  by  day : 
"It  is  over,  you  come  too  late/* 

And  with  many  words  and  sorrowful-phrased 
excuse 

Argued  their  Gferman  right 
To  kill,  most  legally ;  hard  though  the  duty  be, 

The  law  must  assert  its  might. 

Only  a  woman !  yet  she  had  pity  on  them. 

The  victim  offered  slain 
To  the  gods  of  fear  that  they  worship.  Leave 
them  there. 

Red  hands,  to  clutch  their  gain. 


EDITH  CAVELL  77 

She  bewailed  not  herself,  and  we  will  bewail  her 
not 

But  with  tears  of  pride  rejoice 
That  an  English  soul  was  found  so  crystal-clear 

To  be  triumphant  voice 

Of  the  human  heart  that  dares  adventure  all 

But  live  to  itself  untrue, 
And  beyond  all  laws  sees  love  as  the  light  in 
the  night, 

As  the  star  it  must  answer  to. 

The  hurts   she  healed,  the  thousands  com- 
forted —  these 
Make  a  fragrance  of  her  fame. 
But  because  she  stept  to  her  star  right  on 
through  death 
It  is  Victory  speaks  her  name. 


THE   DEPORTATION 


In  vain,  in  vain,  in  vain ! 

Conqueror,  you  are  conquered :  though  you 

grind 
These  bodies,  heel  on  neck ;  and  though  you 

twist 
Out  of  them  the  exquisite  last  wrench  of  pain, 
They  rise,  they  rise  again. 
Rise  quivering  and  eternally  resist 
All  cunning  that  all  cruelty  can  find 
To  mock  the  heart  and  lacerate  the  mind 
In  vain,  in  vain ! 

II 

The  train  stands  packed  for  exile,  truck  on  truck. 
Men  thronged  like  oxen,  pressed  against  each 

other. 
With  worse  than  anger  in  their  dangerous  eyes, 
Look  on  their  drivers,  armed  and  helmeted,  — 
Then  forget  all  in  sudden  stormy  cries 
As  past  the  bayonets  sister,  wife,  and  mother 
78 


THE  DEPORTATION  79 

Strain  up  to  them,  clutch  fingers  tight,  are 

struck 
And  beaten  back,  but  struggle  and  press  again, 
Catch  desolated  kisses,  fight  for  breath 
To  sob  their  widowed  hearts  out  in  a  word 
Their  man  shall  hear,  reckless  of  wound  or 

death 
So  they  come  nigh  him ;  a  farewell  insane, 
A  passion  as  if  the  earth  that  bore  them  heard 
And  in  her  bones  groaned  !  And  white  children 

held 
On  shoulders  where  the  tcfrn  dress  hangs  in 

strips 
Cry  Father  !  and  mute  answers  wring  the  lips 
Of  the  exiles,  in  their  torture  still  unquelled. 

A  whistle  screams.  The  guards  drive,  shout, 

beat.  Then 
An  inspiration  like  an  ecstasy 
Seizes  these  women,  and  they  rush  to  throw 
Their  sobbing  bodies  prone  upon  the  tracks 
Before  the  panting  engine.  If  their  men 
Into  that  night  of  slavery  must  go, 
They  '11  be  with  death  before  them  !  Prostrate 

there, 


8o  THE  CAUSE 

Tear-blinded,  with  tense  arms  and  heaving 

backs, 
Young  wife  and  child  and  mother  of  grey  hair 
Clutch  the  rails,  anguished  and  athirst  to  die, 
While  over  them  the  towering  engine  throbs. 
Blind,  ignorant,  deaf,  and  ready.  But  you  spare 
Such  easiness  of  end,  you  who  did  this 
Which  the  sun  looked  on,  and  which  History 
Shall  see  for  ever.  Though  they  cling  with  sobs 
To  their  own   earth,  frenzied  and   bleeding, 

swift 
They  are  harried  up ;  the  bayonets  prise  and 

lift 
And  tear  away  their  hands'  despairing  grasp : 
They  are  tossed  on  either  side  :  at  the  engine's 

hiss 
The  wheels  begin  that  road  which  curses  pave 
Between  those  piteous  heaps  that  cry  and  gasp 
Helpless,  and  cheated  even  of  their  grave. 

Ill 

But  something  lives  and  burns 
More  perilous  to  assail 
Than  flesh  of  bodies  frail : 
It  waits  and  it  returns. 


THE  DEPORTATION  8i 

And  when  in  the  night  you  dream 
Of  the  day  that  you  did  this  thing, 
When  you  see  those  eyes  and  the  bayonets* 

gleam 
And  the  shrieks  to  your  very  heart's  blood 

ring 
As  you  do  your  deed  in  your  dream  again, 
The  soul  of  the  race  that  you  racked,  to  do 
Your  Lord's  command,  that  you  thought  to 

have  cowed. 
Shall  sharpen  the  bitterness  thrice  for  you 
As  it  rises  before  you,  crying  aloud : 
You  did  it  in  vain,  in  vain  1 


THE   ZEPPELIN 

Guns  !  far  and  near 
Quick,  sudden,  angry, 
They  startle  the  still  street. 
Upturned  faces  appear, 
Doors  open  on  darkness, 
There  is  a  hurrying  of  feet, 

And  whirled  athwart  gloom 

White  fingers  of  alarm 

Point  at  last  there 

Where  illumined  and  dumb 

A  shape  suspended 

Hovers,  a  demon  of  the  starry  air  I 

Strange  and  cold  as  a  dream 
Of  sinister  fancy, 
It  charms  like  a  snake. 
Poised  deadly  in  the  gleam, 
While  bright  explosions 
Leap  up  to  it  and  break. 
82 


THE  ZEPPELIN  83 

Is  it  terror  you  seek 
To  exult  in  ?  Know  then 
Hearts  are  here 
That  the  plunging  beak 
Of  night-winged  murder 
Strikes  not  with  fear 

So  much  as  it  strings 
To  a  deep  elation 
And  a  quivering  pride 
That  at  last  the  hour  brings 
For  them  too  the  danger 
Of  those  who  died, 

Of  those  who  yet  fight 
Spending  for  each  of  us 
Their  glorious  blood 
In  the  foreign  night. — 
That  now  we  are  neared  to  them 
Thank  we  God. 


THE  ENGLISH  GRAVES 

The  rains  of  yesterday  are  flown, 
And  light  is  on  the  farthest  hills ; 
The  homeliest  rough  grass  by  the  stone 
To  radiance  thrills ; 

And  the  wet  bank  above  the  ditch, 
Trailing  its  thorny  bramble,  shows 
Soft  apparitions,  clustered  rich, 
Of  the  pure  primrose. 

The  shining  stillness  breathes,  vibrates 
From  simple  earth  to  lonely  sky, 
A  hinted  wonder  that  awaits 
The  heart's  reply. 

O  lovely  life !  the  chaffinch  sings 
High  on  the  hazel,  near  and  clear. 
Sharp  to  the  heart's  blood,  sweetness 

springs 
In  the  morning  here. 
84 


THE  ENGLISH  GRAVES  85 

But  my  heart  goes  with  the  young  cloud 
That  voyages  the  April  light 
Southward,  across  the  beaches  loud 
And  cliffs  of  white 

To  fields  of  France,  far  fields  that  spread 
Beyond  the  tumbling  of  the  waves, 
And  touches  as  with  shadowy  tread 
The  English  graves. 

There  too  is  Earth  that  never  weeps, 
The  unrepining  Earth,  that  holds 
The  secret  of  a  thousand  sleeps 
And  there  unfolds 

Flowers  of  sweet  ignorance  on  the  slope 
Where  strong  arms  dropped  and  blood  choked 

breath, 
Earth  that  forgets  all  things  but  hope 
And  smiles  on  death. 

They  poured  their  spirits  out  in  pride, 
They  throbbed  away  the  price  of  years : 
Now  that  dear  ground  is  glorified 
With  dreams,  with  tears. 


86  THE  CAUSE 

A  flower  there  is  sown,  to  bud 
And  bloom  beyond  our  loss  and  smart. 
Noble  France,  at  its  root  is  blood 
From  England's  heart. 


GOING  WEST 

Just  as  I  came 

Into  the  empty,  westward-facing  room, 
A  sudden  gust  blew  wide 
The  tall  window ;  at  once 
A  shock  of  sudden  light,  vibrating  like  a  flame, 
Entered,  as  if  it  were  the  wind's  bright  spirit 
Stealing  to  me  upon  some  secret  quest. 
The  wonder  of  the  West 
Burst  open  ;  under  dark  and  rushing  cloud 
That  rained  illumined  drops,  it  glorified 
Each  corner  where  so  dazzlingly  it  struck : 
The   shadows   cowered,  the   brilliance  over- 
flowed. 
As  suddenly,  all  faded. 
Wet,  wild  air  blew  in 
At  the  idly-swinging  door 
Stormily  crumpled  fallen  shreds  of  leaves. 
Dried  scarlet  and  burnt  yellow  and  ashy-brown: 
They  fluttered  in  like  fears  and  blew  across 

the  floor. 
And  I,  to  the  heart  invaded, 
87 


88  THE  CAUSE 

Felt  as  that  wild  light  palpitated  through  me 

And  died  in  a  moment  down, 

Exalted  by  a  visionary  fear 

That  from  the  light  more  than  the  shadow 

fell; 
A  divination  of  splendid  spirits  near, 
Of  glorious  parting  and  of  great  farewell. 


f 
FETCHING  THE  WOUNDED 

At  the  road's  end  glimmer  the  station  lights ; 
How  small  beneath  the  immense  hollow  of 

Night's 
Lonely  and  living  silence !  Air  that  raced 
And  tingled  on  the  eyelids  as  we  faced 
The  long  road  stretched  between  the  poplars 

flying 
To  the  dark  behind  us,  shuddering  and  sigh- 
ing 
With  phantom  foliage,  lapses  into  hush. 
Magical  supersession !  The  loud  rush 
Swims  into  quiet :  midnight  reassumes 
Its  solitude ;  there 's  nothing  but  great  glooms, 
Blurred  stars ;  whispering  gusts  ;  the  hum  of 

wires. 
And  swerving  leftwards  upon  noiseless  tires 
We  glide  over  the  grass  that  smells  of  dew. 
A  wave  of  wonder  bathes  my  body  through ! 
For  there  in  the  headlamps'  gloom-surrounded 

beam 
Tall  flowers  spring  before  us,  like  a  dream, 
89 


90  THE  CAUSE 

Each  luminous  little  green  leaf  intimate 

And  motionless,  distinct  and  delicate 

With  powdery  white  bloom  fresh  upon  the 

stem, 
As  if  that  clear  beam  had  created  them 
Out  of  the  darkness.  Never  so  intense 
I  felt  the  pang  of  beauty's  innocence, 
Earthly  and  yet  unearthly. 

A  sudden  call ! 
We  leap  to  ground,  and  I  forget  it  all. 
Each  hurries  on  his  errand ;  lanterns  swing ; 
Dark  shapes  cross  and  re-cross  the  rails ;  we 

bring 
Stretchers,  and  pile  and  number  them ;  and 

heap 
The  blankets  ready.  Then  we  wait  and  keep 
A  listening  ear.    Nothing  comes  yet;  all's 

still. 
Only  soft  gusts  upon  the  wires  blow  shrill 
Fitfully,  with  a  gentle  spot  of  rain. 
Then,  ere  one  knows  it,  the  long  gradual  train 
Creeps  quietly  in  and  slowly  stops.  No  sound 
But  a  few  voices'  interchange.  Around 
Is  the  immense  night-stillness,  the  expanse 
Of  faint  stars  over  all  the  wounds  of  France. 


FETCHING  THE  WOUNDED      91 

Now  stale  odour  of  blood  mingles  with  keen 
Pure  smell  of  grass  and  dew.    Now^~lantern 

sheen 
Falls  on  brown  faces  opening  patient  eyes 
And  lips  of  gentle  answers,  where  each  lies 
Supine  upon  his  stretcher,  black  of  beard 
Or  with  young  cheeks;  on  caps  and  tunics 

smeared 
And  stained,  white  bandages  round  foot  or  head 
Or  arm,  discoloured  here  and  there  with  red. 
Sons  of  all  corners  of  wide  France ;  from 

Lille, 
Douay,  the  land  beneath  the  invader's  heel, 
Champagne,  Touraine,  the  fisher-villages 
Of  Brittany,  the  valley ed  Pyrenees, 
Blue  coasts  of  the  South,  old  Paris  streets. 

Argonne 
Of  ever  smouldering  battle,  that  anon 
Leaps  furious,  brothered  them  in  arms.  They 

fell 
In  the  trenched  forest  scarred  with  reeking 

shell. 
Now  strange  the  sound  comes  round  them  in 

the  night 
Of  English  voices.  By  the  wavering  light 


92  THE  CAUSE 

Quickly  we  have  borne  them,  one  by  one,  to 

the  air. 
And  sweating  in  the  dark  lift  up  with  care. 
Tense-sinewed,  each  to  his  place.  The  cars  at 

last 
Complete  their  burden :  slowly,  and  then  fast 
We  glide  away. 

And  the  dim  round  of  sky. 
Infinite  and  silent,  broods  unseeingly 
Over  the  shadowy  uplands  rolling  black 
Into  far  woods,  and  the  long  road  we  track 
Bordered  with  apparitions,  as  we  pass. 
Of  trembling  poplars  and  lamp-whitened  grass, 
A  brief  procession  flitting  like  a  thought 
Through    a    brain    drowsing   into    slumber; 

nought 
But  we  awake  in  the  solitude  immense ! 
But  hurting  the  vague  dumbness  of  my  sense 
Are  fancies  wandering  the  night :  there  steals 
Into  my  heart,  like  something  that  one  feels 
In  darkness,  the  still  presence  of  far  homes 
Lost  in  deep  country,  and  in  little  rooms 
The  vacant  bed.    I  touch  the  world  of  pain 
That  is  so  silent.  Then  I  see  again 
Only  those  infinitely  patient  faces 


FETCHING  THE  WOUNDED      93 

In  the  lantern  beam,  beneath  the  night's  vast 
spaces, 

Amid  the  shadows  and  the  scented  dew ; 

And  those  illumined  flowers,  springing  anew 

In  freshness  like  a  smile  of  secrecy 

From  the  gloom-buried  earth,  returns  to  me. 

The  village  sleeps ;  blank  walls,  and  windows 
barred. 

But  lights  are  moving  in  the  hushed  court- 
yard 

As  we  glide  up  to  the  open  door.  The  Chief 
Gives  every  man  his  order,  prompt  and  brief. 
We  carry  up  our  wounded,  one  by  one. 
The  first  cock  crows :  the  morrow  is  begun. 


THE  EBB  OF  WAR 

In  the  seven-times  taken  and  retaken  town 
Peace !  The  mind  stops ;  sense  argues  against 

sense. 
The  August  sun  is  ghostly  in  the  street 
As  if  the  Silence  of  a  thousand  years 
Were  its  familiar.  All  is  as  it  was 
At  the  instant  of  the  shattering :  flat-thrown 

walls ; 
Dislocated  rafters  ;  lintels  blown  awry 
And  toppling  over ;  what  were  windows,  merely 
Gapings  on  mounds  of  dust  and  shapelessness  ; 
Charred  posts  caught  in  a  bramble  of  twisted 

iron; 
Wires  sagging  tangled  across  the  street ;  the 

black 
Skeleton  of  a  vine  wrenched  from  the  old 

house 
It  clung  to;  a  limp  bell-pull ;  here  and  there 
Little  printed  papers  pasted  on  the  wall. 
It  is  like  a  madness  crumpled  up  in  stone, 
Laughterless,  tearless,  meaningless ;  a  frenzy 
94 


THE  EBB  OF  WAR  95 

Stilled,  like  at  ebb  the  shingle  in  sea-caves 
Where  the  imagined  weight  of  water  swung 
Its  senseless  crash  with  pebbles  in  myriads 

churned 
By  the  random  seethe.  But  here  was  flesh 

and  blood, 
Seeing  eyes,  feeling  nerves ;  memoried  minds 
With  the  habit  of  the  picture  of  these  fields 
And  the  white  roads  crossing  the  wide  green 

plain. 
All  vanished !  One  could  fancy  the  very  fields 
Were  memory's  projection,  phantoms  !  All 
Silent !  The  stone  is  hot  to  the  touching  hand. 
Footsteps  come  strange  to  the  sense.  In  the 

sloped  churchyard. 
Where   the  tower  shows   the   blue   through 

its  great  rents, 
Shadow  falls  over  pitiful  wrecked  graves, 
And  on  the  gravel  a  bare-headed  boy, 
Hands  in  his  pockets,  with  brown  absent  eyes, 
Whistles  the  Marseillaise  :  To  Arms,  To  Arms ! 
There  is  no  other  sound  in  the  bright  air. 
It  is  as  if  they  heard  under  the  grass. 
The  dead  men  of  the  Marne,  and  their  thin 

voice 


96  THE  CAUSE 

Used  those  young  lips  to  sing  it  from  theii 

graves, 
The  song  that  sang  a  nation  into  arms. 
And   far  away  to   the  listening  ear  in  the 

silence 
Like  remote  thunder  throb  the  guns  of  France. 

Maurupt  19 15 


LA  PATRIE 

Through  storm-blown  gloom  the  subtle  light 

persists. 
Shapes  of  tumultuous,  ghostly  cloud  appear. 
Trailing  a  dark  shower  from  hill-drenching 

mists ; 
Dawn,  desolate  in  majesty,  is  here. 

But  ere  the  wayside  trees  show  leaf  and  form, 

Invisible  larks  in  all  the  air  around 

Ripple  their  songs  up  through  the  gloom  and 

storm. 
As  if  the  foiled  light  had  won  wings  of  sound, 

A  wounded  soldier  on  his  stretcher  waits 

His  turn  for  the  ambulance,  by  the  glimmer- 
ing rails. 

He  is  wrapt  in  a  rough  brown  blanket  like  his 
mates ; 

And  over  him  dawn  broadens,  the  cloud  pales. 

Muscular,  swart,  bearded,  and  quite  still, 
He  lies,  too  tired  to  think,  to  wonder.  Drops 
97 


98  THE  CAUSE 

From  a  leaf  fall  by  him.  For  spent  nerve  and 

will 
The  world  of  shattering  and  stunned  effort 

stops. 

He  feels  the  air,  song-thrilled  and  fresh  and 

dim, 
And  close  about  him  smells  the  rainy  soil. 
It  is  ever-living  Earth  recovers  him, 
Friend  and  companion  of  old,  fruitful  toil. 

He  is  patient  with  her  patience.    Hurt,  he 

takes 
Strength  from  her  rooted,  still  tenacities. 
Her  will  to  heal,  that  secretly  re-makes 
Like    slumber,   holds    his    dark,    contented 

eyes. 

For  she,  though — never  reckoning  of  the 

cost  — 
Full  germs  of  all  profusion  she  prepares. 
Knows  tragic  hours,  too,   parching   famine, 

frost 
And  wreck ;  and  in  her  children's  hurt  she 

shares. 


LA  PATRIE  99 

Build  what  we  may,  house  us  in  lofty  mind's 
Palaces,  wean  the  fine-wrought  spirit  apart, 
Earth  touches  where  the  fibre  throbs,  and 

winds 
The  threads  about  us  of  her  infinite  heart. 

And  some  dear  ground  with  its  own  changing 

sky, 
As  if  it  were  our  feeling  flesh,  is  wrought 
Into  the  very  body's  dignity 
And  private  colour  of  least  conscious  thought. 

O  when  the  loud  invader  burned  and  bruised 
This  ordered  land's  old  kindness,  with  brute 

blows 
Shamed   and    befouled   and    plundered  and 

abused, 
Was  it  not  Earth  that  in  her  soldier  rose 

And  armed  him,  terrible  and  simple.?  He 
Takes  his  wound,  mute  as  Earth  is,  yet  as 

strong. 
The  funeral  clouds  trail,  wet  wind  shakes  the 

tree, 
But  all  the  wild  air  of  the  dawn  is  song. 

Latrecy  1916 


THE  DISTANT  GUNS 

Negligently  the  cart-track  descends  into  the 

valley ; 
The  drench  of  the  rain  has  passed,  and  the 

clover  breathes ; 
Scents  are   abroad;    in   the  valley   a   mist 

whitens 
Along  the  hidden  river,  where  the  evening 

smiles. 
The  trees  are  asleep,  their  shadows  are  longer 

and  longer, 
Melting  blue  in  the  tender  twilight ;  above. 
In  a  pallor  barred  with  lilac  and  ashen  cloud 
Delicate  as  a  spirit  the  young  moon  brightens ; 
And,  distant,  a  bell  intones  the  hour  of  peace 
Where  roofs  of   the  village,  grey  and  red, 

cluster 
In  leafy  dimness.  Peace,  old  as  the  world ! 
The  crickets,  shrilling  in  the  high,  wet  grass. 
And  gnats  clouding  upon  the  frail  wild  roses, 
Murmur  of  you.    But  hark!  like  a  shudder 

upon  the  air 

100 


THE  DISTANT  "guns    '  '  '*i6i'^ ' ' ' 

Ominous  and  alien,  knocking  on  the  farther 
hills 

As  with  airy  hammers,  the  ghosts  of  terrible 
sound  — 

Guns  1  From  afar  they  are  knocking  on  hu- 
man hearts 

Everywhere  over  the  silent  evening  country. 

Knocking  with  fear  and  dark  presentiment. 
Only 

The  moon's  beauty,  where  no  life  or  joy  is. 

Brightening  softly  and  seeing  nothing,  has 
peace. 

Arc-en-Barrois  1916 


MEN   OF  VERDUN 

There  are  five  men  in  the  moonlight 
That  by  their  shadows  stand. 

Three  hobble  humped  on  crutches, 
And  two  lack  each  a  hand. 

Frogs  somewhere  near  the  roadside 
Chorus  their  chant  absorbed  : 

But  a  hush  breathes  out  of  the  dream-light 
That  far  in  heaven  is  orbed. 

It  is  gentle  as  sleep  falling 

And  wide  as  thought  can  span^ 

The  ancient  peace  and  wonder 
That  brims  the  heart  of  man. 

Beyond  the  hills  it  shines  now 

On  no  peace  but  the  dead, 
On  reek  of  trenches  thunder-shocked, 
Tense  fury  of  wills  in  wrestle  locked, 

A  chaos  crumbled  red  I 

102 


MEN  OF  VERDUN  103 

The  five  men  in  the  moonlight 

Chat,  joke,  or  gaze  apart. 
They  talk  of  days  and  comrades, 

But  each  one  hides  his  heart. 

They  wear  clean  cap  and  tunic 
As  when  they  went  to  war ; 

A  gleam  comes  where  the  medal 's  pinned ; 
But  they  will  fight  no  more. 

The  shadows  maimed  and  antic 

Gesture  and  shape  distort, 
Like  mockery  of  a  demon  dumb 
Out  of  the  hell-din  whence  they  come 

That  dogs  them  for  his  sport : 

But  as  if  dead  men  were  risen 

And  stood  before  me  there 
With  a  terrible  fame  about  them  blown 

In  beams  of  spectral  air, 

I  see  them  now,  transfigured 

As  in  a  dream,  dilate 
Fabulous  with  the  Titan-throb 

Of  battling  Europe's  fate. 


I04  THE  CAUSE 

For  history  's  hushed  before  them, 
And  legend  flames  afresh ; 

Verdun,  the  name  of  thunder. 
Is  written  on  their  flesh. 


ENGLAND'S   POET 

To  other  voices,  other  majesties, 
Removed  this  while,  Peace  shall  resort  again. 
But  he  was  with  us  in  our  darkest  pain 
And  stormiest  hour :  his  faith  royally  dyes 
The  colours  of  our  cause ;  his  voice  replies 
To  all  our  doubt,  dear  spirit !  heart  and  vein 
Of  England's  old  adventure !  his  proud  strain 
Rose  from  our  earth  to  the  sea-breathing  skies. 

Even  over  chaos  and  the  murdering  roar 
Comes  that  world-winning  music,  whose  full 

stops 
Sounded  all  man,  the  bestial  and  divine; 
Terrible  as  thunder,  fresh  as  April  drops. 
He  stands,  he  speaks,  the  soul-transfigured 

sign 
Of  all  our  story,  on  the  English  shore. 
105 


THE   SIBYLS 

Rending  the  waters  of  a  night  unknown 
The  ship  with  tireless  pulses  bore  me, 
On  the  shadowy  deck  musing  late  and  lone, 
Over  waste  ocean. 

The  rustling  of  the  cordage  in  the  dewy  wind 
And  the  sound  of  idle  surges 
Falling   prolonged   and    for  ever  again   up- 
thrown 
Drowsed  me;  I  slept,  I  dreamed. 

Out  of  the  seas  that  streamed 
In  ghostly  turbulence  moving  and  glimmer- 
ing about  me 
I  saw  the  rising  of  vast  and  visionary  forms. 

Like  clouds,  like  continents  of  cloud,  they  rose, 
August  as  the  shape  of  storms 
In  the  silence  before  the  thunder,  or  of  moun- 
tains 
Alone  in  a  sky  of  sunken  light :  they  rose 
Slowly,  with  shrouded  grandeur 
io6 


THE  SIBYLS  107 

Of  queenly  bosom  and  shoulder ;  and  afar 

Their  countenances  were  lifted,  although 
veiled, 

Although  heavy  as  with  thought  and  with  si- 
lence. 

In  the  heights  where  dimly  gathered 

Star  upon  solitary  star. 

And  it  seemed  to  me,  as  I  dreamed, 

That  these  were  the  forms  of  the  Sibyls  of 

old, 
Prophetesses  whose  eyes  were  aflame  with  in- 
terior fire. 
Who  passionately  prophesied  and  none  com- 
prehended. 
In  the  womb  of  whose  thought  was  quickened 

the  world's  desire. 
Who  saw,  and  because  they  saw,  chastised 
With  voices  terribly  chanting  on  the  wind 
The  folly  of  the  faithlessness  of  men. 

But  not  as  they  haunted  then 
In  cavernous  and  wild  places. 
Each  inaccessibly  sequestered 
And  sought  with  furtive  steps 


io8  THE  CAUSE 

Through  wizard  leaves  of  whispering  laurel 

feared, 
Now  to  me  they  appeared. 
But  rather  like  Queens  of  fabulous  dominion. 
Like  Queens,  voices  of  a  voiceless  people, 
Queens  of  old  time,  with  aweing  faces. 
With  burdened  brows  but  with  proud  eyes, 
Assembled  in  solemn  parley,  to  shape 
Futurity  and  the  nations'  glory  and  doom, 
They  were  met  in  the  night  together. 

And  lo !  beneath  them 
The  immeasurable  circle  of  the  gloom 
Phantasmally  disclosed 
tn  apparition  all  the  coasts  of  the  world, 
Veined  with  rivers  afar  to  the  frozen  moun- 
tains. 
And  I  saw  the  shadow  of  maniac  Death 
Like  a  reveller   there   stagger  glutted  and 

gloating. 
I  saw  murdered  cities 
That  raised  like  a  stiffened  arm 
One  blackened  tower  to  heaven ;  I  saw 
Processions  of  the  homeless  crawling  into  the 
distances ; 


THE  SIBYLS  109 

And  sullen  leagues  of  interminable  battle ; 
And  peoples  arming  afar ;  the  very  earth, 
The  very  bowels  of  the  earth  infected 
With  the  rages  and  the  agonies  of  men. 
For  a  moment  the  vision  gleamed,  and  then 

was  gone. 
Gloom  rushed  down  like  rain. 
But  out  of  the  midst  of  the  darkness 
My  flesh  was  aware  of  a  sound, 
The  peopled  sound  of  moving  millions 
And  the  voices  of  human  pain. 

I  Ufted  my  gaze  to  the  Sibyls, 
The  Sibyls  of  the  Continents,  where  they  rose 
Looking  one  on  another. 
Ancestral  Asia,  mother  of  musing  mind. 
Was  there ;  and  over  against  her 
Towered  in  the  gates  of  the  West  a  shape 
Of  youth  gigantic,  troubled  and  vigilant ; 
Patient  with  eager  dumbness  in  dark  eyes, 
Africa  rose ;  and  ardent  out  of  the  South 
The  youngest  of  those  great  sisters ;  and  proud. 
With  fame  upon  her  for  mantle,  and  regal- 
browed. 
The  stature  of  Europe  old. 


no  THE  CAUSE 

It  seemed  they  listened  to  the  murmur 

Of  the  anguished  lands  beneath  them 

In  sombre  reverberation  rising  and  upward 

rolled. 
Everywhere  battle  and  arming  for  battle, 
Famine  and  torture,.odour  of  burning  and  blood, 
Doubt,  hatred,  terror. 
Rage  and  lamenting ! 

I  heard  sweet  Pity  crying  between  the  earth 

and  sky : 
But  who  had  leisure  for  her  call?   or  who 

hfearkened  to  her  cry  ? 

Not  with  our  vision,  and  not  with  our  horizon 

The  gaze  of  the  Sibyls  was  filled. 

Their  trouble  was  trouble  beyond  the  shaping 

of  our  fear. 
Their  hope  full-sailed  upon  oceans  beyond  our 

ken; 
Their  thoughts  were  the  thoughts  that  build 
Towers  for  the  dawn  unseen. 

But  nearer  than  ever  before 
They  drew  to  each  other,  sister  to  shrouded 
sister, 


THE  SIBYLS  in 

Queen  to  superb  Queen. 

What  counsel  took  they  together?  or  what 

word 
Of  power  and  of  parturition 
Passed  their  lip»?  What  saw  they, 
Conferring  among  the  stars  ? 
My  blood  tingled,  and  I  heard 
Syllables,  O  too  vast 
For  capacity  of  my  ears;  yet  within  me, 
In  the   innermost  bones  and  caves  of  my 

being 
I  felt  a  voice  like  the  voice  of  a  sea, 
And  the  sound  of  it  seemed  to  be  crying: 

"  Endure ! 
Humble  yourselves,  O  dreamers  of  dreams, 
In  whose  bosom  is  peril  fiercer  than  fire  or 

beast, 
Humble  yourselves,   O   desolaters   of  your 

own  dreams. 
Then  arise  and  remember ! 
Though  now  you  cry  in  astonishment  and  an- 
guish 
'What  have  we  done  to  the  beauty  of  the 

world 
That  ruins  about  us  in  ashes  and  blood  ? ' 


112  THE  CAUSE 

Remember  the  Spirit  that  moulded  and  made 

you 
In  the  beauty  of  the  body 
Shaped  as  the  splendour  of  speech  to  thought, 
The  Spirit  that  wills  with  one  desire, 
With  infinite  else  unsatisfied  desire. 
Peace  not  made  by  conquerors  and  armies, 
Peace  born  in  the  soul,  that  asks  not  shelter 

or  a  pillow. 
The  peace  of  truth,  unshaken  amid  the  thunder, 
Unaffrighted  by  fury  of  shrivelling  fire, 
And  neither  time  nor  tempest. 
Neither  slumber  nor  calamity, 
Neither  rending  of  the  flesh  nor  breaking  of 

the  heart. 
Shall  stay  you  from  that  desire/' 

That  sound  floated  like  a  cloud  in  heaven, 

Lingering ;  and  like  an  answer 

Came  the  sound  of   the  rushing  of  spirits 

triumphant. 
Of  young  men  dying  for  a  cause. 

I  lifted  my  eyes  in  wonder, 
And  silence  filled  me. 


THE  SIBYLS  113 

And  with  the  silence  I  was  aware 

Of  a  breath  moving  in  the  glimmer  of  the  air. 

The  stars  had  vanished ;  but  again 

I  beheld  those  Sibyls  august 

Over  stilled  ocean, 

And  on  their  faces  the  dawn. 

Even  as  I  looked  they  lifted  up  their  heads, 

They  lifted  their  heads,  like  eagles 

That  slowly  shake  and  widen  their  wondrous 

wings ; 
They  arose  and  vanished  like  the  stars. 
The  light  of  the  changed  world,  the  world 

new-born, 
Brimmed  over  the  silence  of  the  seas ; 
But  even  in  the  rising  of  its  beam 
I  remembered  the  light  in  their  eyes. 


BEFORE   THE   DAWN 

Blacker  the  night  grows  ere  the  dawn  be 

risen, 
Keener  the  cost,  and  fiercer  yet  the  fight. 
But  hark !  above  the  thunder  and  the  terror 
A  trumpet  blowing  splendid  through  the  night. 

It  is  the  challenge  of  our  dead  undying, 
Calling,  Remember  !  We  have  died  for  you. 
It  is  the  cry  of  perilled  earth's  hereafter  — 
Sons  of  our  sons  —  Be  glorious  !  Be  true  ! 

Now  in  the  hour  when  either  world  is  witness, 
Never  or  now  shall  we  be  proven  great. 
Rise  to  the  height  of  all  our  strain  and  story, 
Aye,  and  beyond  I  For  we  ourselves  are  Fate. 
114 


TO   THE   END 

Because  the  storm  has  stript  us  bare 
Of  all  things  but  the  thing  we  are, 
Because  our  faith  requires  us  whole, 
And  we  are  seen  to  the  very  soul. 
Rejoice !  From  nowall  meaner  fears  are  fled. 

Because  we  have  no  prize  to  win 

Auguster  than  the  truth  within, 

And  by  consuming  of  the  dross 

Magnificently  lose  our  loss, 

Rejoice !  We  have  not  vainly  borne  and  bled. 

Because  we  chose  beyond  recall 

And  for  dear  honour  hazard  all, 

And  summoned  to  the  last  attack 

Refuse  to  falter  or  look  back, 

Rejoice!  We  die,  the  Cause  is  never  dead. 

THE    END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U   •   S   .  A 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 

University  of  California  Library 

or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
BIdg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 

(510)642-6753 
1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books 

to  NRLF 
Renewals    and    recharges    may    be    made    4    days 

prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


AUG  2  2  1996 


VC160526 


THE 

\mriE  HOUSE 

S/NFRANCISO) 


BOOKS 


